One of Those Dreams
by X3
Summary: A very short sequel to "Friendship's Sacrifice". Rogue has a nighttime ritual that is all John's fault.


Title: One of Those Dreams

By: X

x0832001@yahoo.com

Disclaimer:  I own nothing, I am getting no money.  There is no reason to sue me.

Summary:  A very short sequel to "Friendship's Sacrifice".  Rogue has a nighttime ritual, and it's all John's fault.

A/N:  There was a lot of request for a sequel to "Friendship's Sacrifice".  I really didn't have much of an idea until I found ().  It generates random person-emotion-object combinations.  Rogue-Dead-Cigarettes inspired me to write a little more.

Warm, soft lips were traveling up and down her throat, pausing at the wonderful soft spot just under the jaw.  She could feel hands tracing lazy circles in her hair as her own hand slid across soft skin overlaying taught muscle on a man's stomach.  She moved her hand reviling in the feel of skin on skin.  She felt herself writhing from the sensation he was evoking.  She moaned happily.  Her hand slithered around his side, across his ribs to the back of his shoulder and she pulled him even closer.  She moaned again. Rogue awoke with a gasp.  It had been one of **those** dreams.  

Those were dreams she shouldn't have been having, the whole idea of them a fantasy that would never come to pass.  They couldn't her skin was poison and she just had to deal with that.  If she was having them, they should at least have been about Bobby.  She and Bobby had been dating for months now.  They'd had a couple of quick kisses, but nothing like her dream.  You would expect that Bobby would have been the boy in her dream.  Maybe she'd feel less conflicted if it was.  But the hair that had brushed against her cheek was longer, darker.  It was John Allerdyce in all of these intense dreams; and this was certainly not the first time she'd had one.

So Rogue did what she always did after one of those dreams, she silently slipped from her bed, careful not to wake the sleeping Kitty or Jubilee.  She pulled on her robe, slippers and quietly shut the door behind her.  She crept down to the kitchen, not drawing the attention of any lingering night owls.  She opened the back door and sat on the little porch that was on the other side.  She sat down in the white plastic seat pulled out a teal pack of cigarettes from her robe.  Marie sighed.  She stared at the lighter as she lit the cancer stick.  She inhaled the smoke and didn't care it was killing her.  She normally didn't smoke, she was a good girl.  Good girls didn't do things that would make them dead.  But those dreams were so full of, of stuff.  She didn't want to be the good girl after she'd had one.  The dreams hadn't started after she'd read the letter; she'd had them before.  But with the secret knowledge of how John felt swimming around in her mind with no outlet, the dreams were more frequent and intense than ever before.  Damn whatever teacher who'd shown the young John Allerdyce to hold a pen.

She took a deep puff and exhaled.  No one had ever written her a letter like that before.  It was beautiful, a side of John he never let anyone see.  He kept up that delinquent, shallow, carefree air so no one suspected he had another part to him.  But the letter he had written was physical proof it existed.  He had cared about her so much; his words were drenched with that idea.  But he was also a devoted friend, he couldn't hurt Bobby.  He was willing to deny himself happiness for his friend.  There were those that sneered at the mention of his name, rolled their eyes when they came across something that indicated he had once lived among them.  Those people didn't know about John, that he was more complex then he let on.

Things were just so complicated now.  She looked at the warm orange glow at the end of her cigarette.  It reminded her of that day at the mall and made her grin.  "I can't help it if your girlfriend's getting excited" "I don't think she's getting excited." Oh, but Marie had been.  She loved that free-ness John had.  That attitude that no one was going to control him, dictate his actions.  He was always in control.  She envied that because she wasn't.  She pulled another drag off of the cigarette and blew the white smoke upwards.  She'd never smoke during the day, when people might see.  She was a good girl after all.  They couldn't know about this dirty little habit.  She suspected Logan might know, what with the heightened senses and that distinctive tobacco smell that lingered in hair and clothes.  Sure she showered in the morning and kept her cigarette containing robe isolated, but Logan had a super nose.  Of course, if Logan knew he didn't say anything.  

She wasn't in control of her personal life and wasn't in control of her powers.  One touch and she could drain away a person's life.  Her skin was a thief, stealing away the life-force, the powers, and the memories of anyone it touched.  Everyone else had learned control, could use their powers as they wanted.  Sure she'd used her powers to help, but they were in control, not her.  To be honest, if she were in control of her life and her powers she'd make one of **those **dreams come true.

Thinking of John made her wonder what life would be like if she were in control.  Guilt edged in to her thoughts.  Bobby was her boyfriend she should be learning control for him, so they could be closer.  But she wasn't even sure she wanted to be closer to Bobby.  He was a great friend, she would hate to lose that.  Bobby filled a space in her no one else could.  Marie just wasn't sure this place he filled was the boyfriend, love of your life kind of place.  She inhaled more smoke and let it linger in her mouth a moment, tickling her, before she blew it out.

The cigarette in he fingers was burning down.  She could feel the warmth on her finger tips.  She'd finished another cigarette but wasn't any closer to resolving her conflict.  She was confused about what she felt for Bobby, still confused about the John situation, and she was still going to have **those** dreams.  But, she could live with that.  They were great while they lasted, and maybe she could work out this post dream stuff before winter.  Because coming out here to smoke during the cold of an upstate New York winter would be lame.  Also cigarettes were expensive.  But, on a warm April night when the pack was still most of the way full, she really couldn't complain too much that she'd had another one of **those** dreams and was outside thinking about John Allerdyce.   


End file.
